


In nothing but his knickers...

by Manchanification



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cullistair, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Male Solo, Oral Sex, PWP, Shameless Smut, Slash, Vaginal Sex, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5018140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manchanification/pseuds/Manchanification
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen may not have been telling the whole story during their game of wicked grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just more smut of the chantry boys (please don't judge me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair/Cullen only. For Alistair/Cousland please go to the next chapter

He has their attention, rapt upon him in the middle of the noisy tavern, drinks in hands and cards all but forgotten. He's never been one for telling stories, his life either too dull or simply too painful to recall. But there's one, a fond memory of an earlier time, that he has shared time and again, though never with as much amusement as he does now, surrounded by people that he can truly call friends.

'...the poor recruit ran out into the dining hall in nothing but his knickers,' he grins, leaning his elbows on the table, memories of the flustered youth running through his head. A youth whose identity he has always left purposefully vague, unwilling to tarnish the now grown man's reputation. 

His hands move of their own accord, gesturing as he speaks.

'And this,' he pauses, thinking 'profound silence fell over the hall as seventy mages and thirty templars all turned to stare at once.'

They're leaning in now, Blackwall's tankard paused half way to his mouth.

'Then, a slow round of applause began and spread until every soul was on their feet. A standing ovation.'

He remembers it clearly, struggling to keep the smirk off his face as he thinks about it, building the tension as he speaks. The golden-red hair of a young man, barely eighteen, the cherry red of his cheeks as he blushed, standing in front of all those people, keenly aware of his mistakes. He always was a blusher...not that Cullen could talk, of course.

'What did he do?' Josephine asks, her words breaking as she giggles in anticipation.

He leans back before he speaks, remembering the tall youth as he had drawn himself to his full height, broad shoulders pulled back, toned muscles flexing beneath pale, sweat dampened skin.

'Saluted. Turned on his heel. And marched out like he was in full armour.' There's a grin curving his lips, fondness for the man in question hidden behind his amusement even as those around him burst into fits of laughter.

'He did not!' Cassandra exclaims, glee written over her usually stern face.

Dorian is beaming, the Iron Bull shouting his disbelief even as Cullen settles back onto his stool, punchline delivered.

Varric is speaking, praise and appraisal, claming how he could never write anything like that and get away with it. But even as the Inquisitor coaxes the dwarf into telling one of his tales, most likely of his time with Hawke, his own mind is wandering.

He won't share the rest of that evening's events, how he had slipped from his position at the dinner table. They play through his mind, refusing to be ignored completely even as he makes to buy a new round of drinks for the table, hoping to redirect his attention back to where it's more appropriate, over a decade in the future. It doesn't work and he tries to focus on the game instead, watching Josephine for the way her lip quirks when she has a poor hand. She's gathering money before her, and surely the threat of his own humiliation will train his mind back to where it should be as he announces his challenge to her once more.

It doesn't. Before he's really registered what's going on there are cat calls and wolf whistles about him, encouragements as he shrugs off his coat and armour until he's sat in his bare skin, perched uncomfortably on the stool.

There's laughter about him, good natured, friendly, as blood rushes to his cheeks, staining his face a rosy red. Lips pursed, he shifts, crossing his legs uncomfortably, aware of the titters running through the inn at the sight of the commander of the Inquisition's bare bottom. He wonders idly what it was like for the young recruit so many years ago, clad in the barest scrap of cotton, remembering the blush that had spread from cheeks to the tips of his ever so slightly pointed ears and down to his navel. 

His friends are chuckling, Cassandra annoucing her lack of desire to see his 'walk of shame' as she puts it. Dorian seems all but giddy at the prospect, a sly smile curving his lips as he looks him up and down. He flushes under the grey gaze, his legs crossing a little more, attempting to retain his remaining shreds of dignity as one by one the group retires for the evening until it's just him, the Inquisitor and an inebriated Bull. 

She offers him a smile, a shrug and he stands, glancing about the room for the quickest escape route and making for it. Not quite as graceful as the trainee templar's own escape from social humiliation. 

He remembers as he runs, startled shrieks from nearby soldiers and mages and nobles, how he had held himself proudly as he strode from the room despite his embarrasment. And Cullen couldn't help but remember the sight of his retreating back, muscles rippling as he walks away, straight and tall, his body masking the shame he knew had been running through him. He had always admired those shoulders, the man who was a year or so younger both taller and broader than himself, heavy with muscle that never seemed to tip over into 'too much'.

Breathing heavily, he dashes up the stairs, along the battlements into his chambers, slamming door bars down before scrambling up the ladder to his bedroom. His bed is waiting, welcoming as he collapses into it face first, feeling arousal stir as the events of so many years ago play so vividly through his mind.

When the hubbub had died down, the young man's all but naked body long since fled, he had slipped away to find him. And so he had, the youth pressed into an alcove on the way back to the dorms, his breathing rough, his cheeks somehow still pink.

He had slipped into the alcove with him, a moth eaten tapestry to hide them.

'Nice entrance,' he had joked and the younger man's eyes had lit up, an easier smile falling over full lips '...better exit.'

A boyish grin followed.

'Oh you noticed?'

'The entire room noticed, Alistair. How in the name of the Maker did you end up...?'

A sigh, a roll of bronze eyes, a shake of his head.

'Trust me... you don't want to know,' a soft groan 'Maker's breath, I'm an idiot. They'll talk about this for years. Alistair-the-pantless, nudist extrordinaire.'

His own smile had formed at that.

'I've no doubt that in a few weeks your knickers will be all but forgotten about.'

The recruit had scoffed.

'Easy for you to say.'

'It could be worse, you know.'

'Only if I were completely starkers,' a huff, '...suppose it might give the chantry sisters something to talk about.'

'It would give the revered mother a heart attack, is what it would do.'

'Well...'

'No matter,' a pause 'Why did you stop here, of all places?' A gesture to the cramped alcove.

'Just...catching my breath, I suppose. It's not easy, you know, all those wanton eyes on you,' he grinned again, a familiar self-mocking expression 'Makes a poor innocent boy all shaken up and confused.'

He'd snorted at that, the hint of truth hidden under his veil of humour goading him, but he'd leant forward nonetheless, bait taken.

'Innocent, is it?'

'Entirely.' Brown eyes wide, teasing, his head tilting so that he had to look upwards to catch Cullen's gaze.

'I suspect that's a lie, recruit,' he smiles, watching Alistair's expression carefully, his cheeks still stained a delicate pink 'everyone knows you have a wicked tongue.'

He takes a step fowards, fingers beneath Alistair's chin, soft stubble against the pad of his thumb.  
'Do I?' 

'You do. Though I don't think anyone else realises just how wicked it can truly be.'

There's a flash of teeth, he remembers, as pink lips curve and part, the tip of his tongue flicking out to tease at Cullen's thumb.

He swells, both here in his chambers and then, so many years ago, the feeling of his lips wrapping around his thumb, tongue tangling and teasing almost real. But oh it had gotten so much better, thumb freed from Alistair's mouth with a pop as he took him by the shoulders and pressed him down to his knees.

He went easily, eagerly, hands finding the backs of his thighs, holding firmly as the younger man nuzzles at his crotch. There's little beneath the heavy skirts of the templar uniform and Alistair already knows his way around those well enough, pushing aside the thick fabric of the robes, unlacing leggings and undergarments.

He juts free, a sigh of relief escaping parted lips, already hard, expectant, Alistair's hand wrapping about him, firmly squeezing his length, testing. A thumb presses to his head a moment later, spreading gathered precum and Cullen sighs again, muffling a groan into his arm, braced against the wall, bed, now as long fingers gently draw back thin skin, exposing the dark head of his cock.

The ensuing stroke of Alistair's broad tongue against his head has his hips bucking, insistent, eager, searching for greater sensation. Wetness engulfs him a moment later as lips, his oil slicked fist, close around him, holding, heating, sucking. There are no tricks to his tongue this time, only heat and tightness as his mouth slides down his length, taking him in, pulling back a moment later to sink down again, deeper. 

Cheeks hollow as he sucks and Cullen watches, remembers, mesmerised as Alistair's full lips stretch about him, a tight seal as he works. Amber eyes flick up to meet his own, cheeky, teasing and somehow, still innocent – searching for approval, acceptance, as he works on Cullen's length. He gives it happily, a gentle smile, a groan, fingers gripping golden red hair, rough sheets on an unmade bed. His eyes drift shut, head falling forwards, resting against blankets, low groans escaping him, his chest heaving as Alistair's mouth slides to the base of his length.

The muscles of his throat are tight around him, rippling as the younger man's heads bobs back and forth. There's a soft whine as he breathes through his nose, hands gripping at Cullen's buttocks, holding him in place. Pink flushes over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, chest rising and falling rapidly now as he works on Cullen's heavy shaft, soft grunts trickling from his throat, his own enjoyment evident.

He can't see the state of the other man's lower body from this angle, shoulders blocking his view, but he can imagine it, even now he imagines it, confined length stretching the fabric of his smalls taut, swollen, aching, begging for attention that he won't get until he's finished here. He's shifting though, his hips gently rocking into empty air, searching for friction as fingers tense, scraping down the firm flesh of his arse, his thighs.

There's a pang of disappointment, a rush of cold air against his wet shaft when he pulls off, taking deep breaths, a hand moving to cup at a tightening sack, his own reaching down, back, before he sucks on his index finger, coating it with his saliva. Heat returns when his mouth closes over his tip again, suckling as his slicked fingers slips between his cheeks. Copper eyes open, watching, gauging, a flush spreading across his cheeks as his finger breaches the barrier. 

Cullen bites his lower lip, head falling back, his breath coming in pants as Alistair's finger slides deeper, finding its target a moment later. He can't help the moan that escapes from his parted lips, echoes around the stone walls of his tower, biting down again in an attempt to stop noise. Alistair snuffles, a laugh, he thinks distantly. It's cut off abruptly when his hips roll forward of their own accord, the finger teasing his sweet spot hitting its mark, his length disappearing between swollen lips again.

He's painfully aware of the heat coiling through his belly, racing up his spine with every jolt of Alistair's digit, every stroke of his tongue against the underside of his shaft. Hands grip tighter into golden red hair, pushing him further until his lips are settled around the base of his cock once more, soft moans vibrating against his length.

The pressure in his abdomen is becoming unbearable, sensations thrumming through every nerve now, hips rolling in stilted rhythm. Muscles clench and spasm beneath heated skin, tremors running through his limbs as he struggles to hold himself together. When the tight seal around his cock pulls back to his crown, a tongue swiping heavily across his swollen head, he's lost, a low growl pouring from his throat as he spills.

Breath slowing, he blinks, the memory almost slipping away as he collapses into his own wet spot on the bed beneath him. Cool wind whistles through the crumbling stones of his tower, moonlight spilling through narrow windows, sweat cooling on his bare skin as he lets his head fall against soft blankets. A shiver prompts him to roll onto his back, staring up at the stone ceiling and tugging the thin blanket over himself, sighing.

The memory comes to him often, a source of comfort as much as arousal and he sinks back into it eagerly, staving off the lyrium-less nightmares that always come, fingertips trailing over his sweat dampened abdomen. It's his warm brown eyes that he always remembers first, affection and humour a near constant in their depths.

He smiles down at him as swollen red lips pull off his softening cock, eyes flicking up to meet his own, lips and eyebrow quirked. His cheeks are warm and he reaches down to trail his fingers over the soft skin, watching the recruit nuzzle into his palm as fingers curl under his chin. A gentle press against his jaw draws the younger man up instantly and he wastes no time in claiming his full lips in a firm kiss.

A tongue swipes across his bottom lip, begging for access and he agrees readily, slick heat sliding between his own lips. He's aware of his own taste on Alistair's tongue, heavy salt and bitterness, ignoring it in favour of pressing the trainee into the wall behind him, curling a hand around the back of his skull to prevent it from colliding with the hard surface. 

Pinning him against the wall makes Alistair's predicament all too obvious and he chances a look down to his hips, finding the thin off-white cotton of his smalls stretched almost to bursting. He's trailing a hand lightly over the taut fabric, kiss breaking as he watches the strawberry blonde's hips buck and roll, what's hidden beneath jerking at the barely-there contact. A soft mewl draws his attention back to the other man's face, his eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open enticingly and the sight of him so enraptured only serves to make him want to tease a little.

He pulls his hand away, placing it instead on the thick muscles of his chest, trailing a rough fingertip down to scratch over a perked nipple. He wishes he could feel the heat of his body, the pressure of his weight against him, blocked by his own armour as he is. He knows, of course, has felt those muscles rolling and writhing beneath him, against him before, but that doesn't stop the desire now. Not when he can see the hot flush travelling down Alistair's neck and chest, not when the taller man lifts a leg, hooking it around the back of his thigh, exposing himself further, attempting to grind himself against his concealed crotch.

The sight of him there, his underwear struggling to contain him, desperate for his touch almost rouses him again and he reminds himself that this is now about the other man, despite how much he wants to have him again.

He doesn't think Alistair would object either.

Instead, he's leaning forwards, encouraging the bare leg around him to grip tighter as he moves to whisper into his ear.

'Just look at you.'

And the jolt that runs through Alistair's body at the sound of his voice, the rush of hot breath against his ear is clearly involuntary.

He smiles. In all honesty, he has no idea what he's doing, this kind of language foreign and uncomfortable in his throat and yet the effect it has on his partner makes it worthwhile to pretend that it comes easy. When he sees him buck and gasp and writhe at his words, they almost do.

'You're beautiful like this, you know? Hot and desperate and blushing, waiting for me here in this alcove in nothing but your knickers.'

The younger man is arching against him and he frees his hand from his hair, allowing it to join the other as it curls down his torso, tracking around to his back to settle on rounded buttocks. Muscles flex beneath his hands and he smiles and snorts into the damp neck, nuzzling gently as he squeezes.

A soft groan accompanies his motions. Alistair always was vocal, from their first time together not so long again until now, always ready to let his enjoyment known, to lay himself bare to his partner in every sense of the word.

His fingers tangle in the already stretched material of his smalls, curling it into his fists and it doesn't take much more for the fabric to finally give way, tearing slowly. Alistair's gasp of relief as the material submits is audible, his shaft springing free of its confines, thick and heavy.

He takes him in hand immediately, slicking his crown with the precum already present at his foreskin, pushing velvet skin back before dragging it over his head again. He's smooth and sleek in his hand, reacting fiercly, blunt nails pressing into his armour as he rolls him in his palm, back and forth.

It takes a heavy kiss to stifle his moans, inhibitions forgotten in the wake of his lust, his hips rolling without restraint. Long fingers wind into his curls as he turns his attention to suckling on Alistair's full lower lip, letting his tongue flick out a moment later to trace the defined curve of the upper, all the while working the turgid length in his hand. His hips stutter in their rhythm when he turns his head to nip and suckle at the tender skin below his ear, the younger man muffling his groans in his own fist.

Muscles tense beneath his hands as he grows excrutiatingly close, a fine film of sweat breaking over feverish skin, the leg around his hip pressing his armoured body to his own naked form even as soft grunts and ruts announce his completion.

He's holding him as he comes, white streaks painted onto his cuirass as a muscled back arches, lips falling open as his body tenses. It takes him a few seconds to come to, panting heavily even as his focus sharpens again, a sheepish smile crossing his face as his gaze comes to rest on his superior. Pink spreads across lightly freckled cheeks again, eyeing his release on the polished armour and the coy smile turns into a cheeky grin.

'I guess I'll be polishing that off this evening?'

He allows himself a smile at the other man, letting his long leg drop back to the floor before picking up his skirts and wiping the mess off with them.

'I suspect that the next leg of your journey might serve as punishment enough.'

Alistair's head cocks, copper eyes confused at his partner's word and he nods slowly, feeling a smirk curling his lips.

'By which, I mean getting back to your dorm without even your knickers to save your modesty.'

Soft brown eyes turn down at that, the subtle colour to his cheeks taking on a more vibrant hue as he observes his now completely nude state.

'Oh.'

Large hands move to cover his crotch, eyes darting to the tapestry that conceals them. Distant voices echo at the bottom of the stairs, a chorus of laughter erupting as mages and templars file out of the dining hall.

'Maker,' Alistair sighs '...this'll be worse than the time they made me wear a dress.'

'The recruits made you wear a dress?'

'Yes...' eyes flash back over to him, an amused gleam in them 'I looked rather fetching, if I say so myself. Royal blue is my colour, apparently.'

Shaking his head, a suppressed chuckle in his throat, he pulls back the tapestry and steps out, holding it out of the way for Alistair to make his escape.

'Go...I'll delay them. But you owe me.'

'Yes, sir.'

A flash of a smile follows and then he's dashing away, sprinting down the hall at full spead before disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall.

Breaking from the memory, he leans back into his sheets, wrapping them about himself until he's comfortable, wondering vaguely if the king still thought about their short lived relationship. He had left just a few months after that event, joining the Grey Wardens before eventually claiming his father's throne and a new queen in the process. It was unlikely, under the circumstances but still, he couldn't help but hope that King Alistair would think on it occasionally and as fondly as he did. He rather hoped that the boy he knew hadn't changed too much in the last decade. Judging by the letters the Inquisitor had received from him, though, his sense of humour certainly hadn't and that was as good an indication as any.

Comfortable, smiling at the thought, he settles back into the pillows, content to fall into a pleasant dream of Alistair's buttocks swaying as he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and constructive criticism greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair regales his wife with stories of his intimacy with Cullen.
> 
> Contains Alistair/ Female Cousland with strong mentions of Alistair/Cullen.

'Tell me another.'

'Another...what?'

'You know. You...and...' Elizabeth prompts, pouting when her husband fails to answer '...and the Inquisition's upstanding and terribly proper commander...'

'Ohh, one of those, is it?'

'Please?'

Alistair looks to his wife, his queen, her dark blue eyes wide and pleading as she lies on her back on the bed, her head hanging off as she stares at him upside down. Deep red waves pool on the floor beneath her head, her fingers curled into the worn fur bed covers as she attempts to hold on.

It's a bizarre pose, Alistair thinks, pulling off his finely woven shirt and dropping it to the floor. Hardly fit for a queen, but then behind closed doors, she rarely was. Away from the prying eyes of court she was often playful, bordering on childish, given to bursts of inappropriate humour and deadpan sarcasm.

There's nothing even remotely childish about the woman on the bed now though, her feet pressed into the covers as she tries to maintain her posture. It leaves the long lines of her lightly muscled legs taut, her back arched, flat stomach tensed. She's never looked more beautiful, though rather less regal than would be expected. Not that he's complaining, of course. His wife could be the most graceless person in existence and he would still be utterly captivated by her.

'Sooo...?' she prompts, smiling mischievously.

He sighs before giving in, never able to resist his queen's desires, no matter how sordid. His brief relationship, if that was even the right word for it, had been a secret he was certain he would've taken to his grave. It wasn't shame that had kept him quiet on the subject, more fear of rejection and concern for his former lover. But Elizabeth had a way of coaxing everything out of him, a way of laying him entirely bare and somehow, he didn't even mind.

The first time he had let it slip that she had not, in fact, been his first, her curiosity had been piqued and she had spent the following weeks working every angle to find out the truth until he had finally relented. He had been expecting anger, disgust and rejection at the revelation. What he had received couldn't have been further from his expectations, his wife not only accepting of his past, but actively interested and even aroused by the idea. 

And so he came to sharing his experiences with Cullen with her, baffled and delighted by her reactions.

Free of clothing at last he walked to the bed, settling down on the furs beside her.

'Well...did I ever tell you about the time I managed to walk into the dining hall of the circle nearly naked?'

An eyebrow lifted at that, a smirk curling over her lips as she turned to face him, pulling herself upright.

'No...but it does sound exactly like something only you would manage. Do tell.'

Leaning back into plump pillows, Alistair wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her into his lap, a lopsided smile on pink lips as he kissed at her temple. Her own arms coiled around his neck, her teeth tugging gently at his earlobe, long fingers winding into his hair.

'It was when I was still training to be a Templar, and you remember what I was like when you met me, right? Young and stupid and clumsy...guess not much has changed there though...except the young bit...'

'You still have a few years yet, you know. As far as most of our esteemed court is concerned you're still just a whippersnapper. And you were never stupid, Alistair.'

'So...just clumsy, right?'

'Right.' She smiles softly against his ear, nose brushing against the fine tip.

'Right well...we had been training all day and I was exhausted by the end of it so I thought I'd take a nap before dinner, so I went back to my room and fell asleep and...'

'And?'

'And the next thing I know the dinner bell's ringing so I just...ran, I guess. I'd forgotten that I'd taken all my armour off in the room so I get to the dining hall and just run in. And the room's full. I mean, there's one seat empty, where I'm supposed to be, and every other templar, mage and recruit is sat there, just about to start eating and now they're staring at me,' his cheeks flush as he speaks and she kisses gently at reddened skin, soothing his embarrassment 'So...it's completely silent and then someone, for some reason, starts clapping. And then they're all doing it, clapping and standing for me. Like our wedding...but with less clothes.'

He bites at his lip, eyes distant as he recalls the memory, his gaze brightening as he speaks. 

'It's all embarrassing, you know. Standing there in my smalls with all these people staring and I'm...'

'Blushing?' She prompts.

'Yes...blushing, head to toe probably, but I know he's there as well and out of everyone, it's like it's his eyes I can feel on me most. So I thought...what would Cullen do if he were in this situation? I mean, it's not like he's going to run from the room blushing like a maid and I...I wanted him to be impressed with me, as much as he could be, anyway.'

He pauses, licking his lips as Elizabeth leans down to press a soft kiss against them, the tips of her bare breasts brushing lightly against his own chest. His eyes stray there for a moment, entranced before her kisses and whisper draw his attention back.

'And what did my little templar do?'

'Well I...pretended I was him, stood up straight like he always did when he was on parade. He was good at that, looking tall and strong and you know, in charge. And then I...saluted, I think, turned and marched straight out of that room and back up to my dorm.'

'Really? That's all? But I thought you and Cullen...'

A grin spreads over Alistair's lips at his wife's eagerness for the rest of the story, hands running down to cup at her buttocks, kneading the plump flesh. She wriggles in his grip, pressing back into large palms, his mouth falling to her collarbone to kiss at soft skin.

'I'm getting there, have a little patience, my lady,' a pause while his mouth sinks lower, grazing down her sterum, roving over to a modest breast, 'so I get out of the dining hall and run upstairs but there's this little alcove part way up, covered by a tapestry and there's always been rumours that that's where the couples go. You know, there were always stories of templars and mages who were lovers so I thought it'd be fun to stop and see if he comes...'

'Of course he does, why wouldn't he?'

'Well,' he nips at the soft swell beside his nose 'I didn't know what we were to him. If it was just fun or something else. I never did find out in the end.' 

'But surely...'

'Oh he came. But it could still just have been for fun, you know? Anyway, I'm in this little alcove when I hear footsteps running up the stairs so I press back into it, just in case it's someone else. But he knew I was there, somehow, and he just pulls back the tapestry and steps in, still in his armour and I don't think he'd even bothered to finish eating dinner.'

'You do know that not everyone is as fixated on food as you?'

'So you tell me. I still don't believe you.' His tongue snakes out to lap at a peaked nipple, drawing it into his mouth to suckle as Elizabeth sighs softly, hands trailing to rest on broad shoulders, kneading at the thick muscles there until his mouth releases. His thumbs replace his mouth instantly, circling slowly as she arches into him.

'Tell me.' The words come out hushed, her attention wandering under his treatment and he grins broadly, trailing kisses back up her neck, her jaw, full lips coming to rest on her ear lobe.

'Well, he slides in next to me and it's so small in there that we're almost pressed together. Except he's got that damned armour on and I can't feel a thing except cold steel. It's the only thing I can think about as he speaks...have I told you about his voice?'

'Yes, but you can tell me again.'

'It's wonderful; low and smooth. I was always jealous of his voice. He always speaks quietly, but it's so deep, it's like it wraps around you, holds you, makes you feel warm and...right.'

She opens her eyes to look into Alistair's own amber gaze, finding a blush staining his cheeks again, but he's so enraptured he doesn't bother to acknowledge his embarrassment.

'I barely even noticed what he was saying, just that he was teasing me and I wanted to tease him back...make him want me, make him take me. And he says something about me having a...wicked tongue so I feel like I have to prove it. He's got his thumb on my lip so... I just started sucking on it, the way you do with me sometimes.'

A slender hand reaches down to wrap around his own, bringing calloused fingers to her own rose lips, kissing gently at fingertips, the tip of her tongue flicking out to trace the length of each digit. 

'Like this?'

Blue eyes flick up to meet his own, taking in the flush of pink staining the bridge of his nose.

'A bit more...'

Eager lips descend onto a long finger, velvet tongue wrapping about it, stroking slowly, firmly, eyes amused and teasing as his mouth drops open.

'Yes...definitely like that.'

The heat of her mouth pulls away and she smiles up at him coyly before turning her attention to his chest, nuzzling at the lightly haired plains of pectorals before kissing a wet trail down his sternum. She pauses to meet his eyes again.

'Go on.'

'I...uh...well,' he stammers, face redder now, still bashful even after a decade or so of marriage 'I only meant to tease him, and I guess it worked. He puts his hands on my shoulders, pushes me down onto my knees and even though he's got those robes on I can tell he's....well, he's...you know...'

'Hard?' her hand wraps around his own solid length, a sudden firm grip that has him shifting and shuddering in her palm.

'Yes...'

A gentle press of her lips to the exposed crown of his member and his mouth is running, almost falling over his words as he spills the details of his story.

'Maker...I...,' a slow breath, his abdominal muscles trembling as she works his member with her hand '...I pulled him out from his smalls and he was so ready. Hard and thick and,' he swallows as she takes a slow lap at his head 'hot...I could smell him, like salt and leather. And his soap, that grey stuff the chantry made us use...'

Warm hands press to his thighs as she takes him into her mouth, wet heat and pressure leaving him gasping. His own hands wind into the rich red of her hair, tresses tangled between tense fingers as his chest heaves.

'He watched the whole time, I could feel his eyes on me, his hands on my head while I'm sucking him. And the noises he made...little grunts and groans, the way he gasped when I took him all the way in...'

His queen smirks up at him, cool blue eyes amused as she adjusts her posture and slides her mouth to the base of his engorged length agonisingly slowly. His hips lift off the bed to meet her half way, his mouth falling open as pale red hair presses back into the pillow, his back arching ever so slightly.

It only takes her a moment to pull her mouth free of him, his amber eyes opening to watch her as she clambers into his lap, his large hands finding her hips eagerly as she straddles him. She's just as ready for this as he is, aware that she's soaked for him, growing hotter every time she thinks of him on his knees before the templar that she barely remembers. She can imagine it so clearly though, his beautifully full lips stretched around the other man's member, his cheeks flushed red, his own cock bobbing with the motions running through his large frame.

She wonders what it would be like to see it for real, the sight of her husband beneath another man, hard planes of muscles glistening with sweat as they surged together, a tangle of powerful limbs and animalistic grunts. It makes her throb, Alistair's cock brushing against her swollen, damp folds, sending a surge of delight through her.

'Tell me...' 

It's all she can say as she sinks down onto his rigid shaft, her warmest flesh parting to him as he eases inside her. He's hardly in a position to talk himself, and she knows it, his bottom lip twisted between his teeth as he tries to compose himself enough to finish his story.

'...I...he...he kept grunting, every time I licked, every time I sucked harder, it made me so hard to hear him like that, to know that I was doing that to him.'

His fingers are curled into the flesh of her hips, eyes screwed shut as he remembers, sweat gleaming on the pale expanse of his chest and she grinds down onto him even as he bucks into her, thrusting deeply. In a flurry of inspiration he sits up, arms moving to wrap about her waist, devouring her mouth as his hips roll. Copper eyes open to meet hers, alight with lust as he moves his hips into a sharper rhythm, making her gasp.

Another sudden movement and he flips them, pinning her beneath him, her nails biting into the soft skin of his shoulders as he drives into her. She arches, moans as his lips find a breast, his back curled sharply as he suckles at her before returning to her neck, murmuring into her ear.

'He came in mouth,' he pants, grunts as the words cause her to arch into him, sinking his cock deeper within her as he angles against the spot that makes her writhe for him. 'I can remember him growling, hanging onto me. When he was done he pulled me up and kissed me. He was so beautiful, flushed like you are now, and I knew he could taste it when we kissed and he didn't even seem to care, even though all I could taste was salt and he...just pushed me against the wall.'

There's heat coiling in her belly as he speaks, spreading in a warm rush to her loins, every drag against her inner walls sending sparks of pleasure through her nerves. She can feel herself clenching, clutching at his hardness within her, his hands moving to grip her cheeks, pulling her down onto him, grinding against her.

'His hands were so warm when he touched me, he kept running them over my smalls, teasing me, making me want him so much. He was kissing my neck, my ear, scratching over my chest and...' he pauses, panting as he rolls his hip, her flesh gripping him tighter to encourage him past his residual shyness '...my cock. Rubbing the head through my underwear.'

She groans, load and wanton as she imagines it, aware of his hand creeping down between them, teasing at her concealed clit as his hips grind into her.

'I lifted my leg, hoping he would touch me properly if I showed him how desperate I was for him. I just wanted anything from him, just something to push me over. I was so hard for him already and he just pulled my leg around him tighter so I could rub against him. It was only his armour but it felt so good and then he started talking...'

Her hands are on his back, gripping at shoulder blades, nails carving shallow gouges into his flesh as he moves over her, in her. The coil of heat and pressure in her is building endlessly, the sharp flicks of his fingers against her nub making her ache, sending new flares of ecstasy up her nerves. His voice is at her ear, deepened and roughed by his arousal, the desperation building only adding to her own need.

'He told me how beautiful he thought I was, how pleased he was that I waited there for him in almost nothing. I can remember his hands on my back, sliding down so slowly as he whispered into my ear and then he grabbed my smalls in both hands, tore them off. It seemed to take forever but I could feel them ripping and it felt so good to be out of them.'

His hips are moving faster now, surging into her as his pleasure begins to spiral uncontrollably, lost in the sensations of her and the memory of him.

'He grabbed my cock and started jerking me off, hard and fast, licking my lips and kissing at my neck, knowing just the right pressure to...to get me...get me off. His hand was so hot...'

A gasp and his hips begin to lose their rhythm, his words faltering as fingers rub frantically at her clit. Elizabeth arches beneath him, groans muffled into his shoulder as every muscle in her body tightens and releases, a rush of heat and pressure as fingers clench at the flesh of his back, climax searing through overstimulated nerves.

'Maker he...he made me come, in his hand, over his armour...'

Words still fall from Alistair's lips, his hips jerking once, twice, speech replaced by a low growl as he comes, hips rocking roughly until he's spent.

Quiet descends on the room, soft rustles of expensive sheets and slowing breaths the only noises to break the silence. It's Elizabeth who moves first, fingers moving through the tangled mess of Alistair's rose gold locks, watching his slow breathing as his head rests on her chest. Amber eyes flutter open, his lips peppering kisses onto soft white skin before he shifts, pulling away from her only to gather her into his arms a moment later.

'Did he make you polish it off for him?' She teases, pressed into him, warm and content as he pulls blankets up around them. The soft rumble in his chest alerts her to his soft chuckle as he reclines.

'No. I was forgiven for that. He covered for me when I ran back to my dorm...though I bet it was more to do with getting to watch my arse.'

'Well, you do have a mighty fine arse.'

He chuckles again, nuzzling into her hair.

'We should visit Skyhold.'

The statement catches him unawares and he blinks softly, sitting up to get a better view of her as he speaks. 

'You want to see the Inquisition?'

'While I'm sure the Inquisition is delightful and interesting, it's Commander Cullen I'm more interested in.'

'I'm sure he wouldn't remember me.'

'Oh I have no doubt that he would. Who could possibly forget someone so charming?'

A soft snort announced his disbelief.

'Charming, yes. That's what all the women said when they started laughing at my attempts at wooing.'

'All...the women?'

'Well...just a few. I got the best eventually though.'

'Flatterer.'

Blue eyes turn to him, rolling playfully at his compliments and grin before she turns in his arms to nestle more firmly into his arms.

'But...if you wanted...'

'If I wanted?' Her ears all but prick at the words.

'I suppose it wouldn't be such a bad idea for us to pay a diplomatic visit. We can thank them for keeping the Orlesians away from us.'

Her own grin spreads across gentle pink lips at that.

'I can hardly wait.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Kudos, comments and constructive criticism appreciated :)


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